Saving the Bride

by Kira Blakely

  There were things in my past, too, that I wasn’t sure of, but I was ready to take this next step, to be the best mother I could for the child. Why couldn’t he do the same?

  After a blood test had confirmed that I was pregnant, the doctor had arranged for me to get an ultrasound in her office. Penelope helped me get undressed and slip into a blue polka-dotted hospital gown. Maybe I should have noticed even earlier about the pregnancy. I’d gained almost ten pounds in the last two months, but I thought it was part of graduation stress and overeating while defending my thesis. It honestly hadn’t occurred to me while on the pill that I’d accidentally let my guard down a bit, that I could be pregnant. In hindsight, though, everything fit together, made perfect sense.

  Penelope had stepped out to check in with the nurses, since I’d been left lying there for a while, waiting for anyone to come check in on me. I was starting to get cold. When the door creaked open, I turned my head, expecting it to be her. Instead, my heart hammered hard in my chest when I saw it was Drake. He was disheveled, had five o’clock stubble, and his collar was mussed. But he’d come bearing “I’m sorry gifts.” In one hand, he held a bouquet of balloons, and in the other, he was carrying a giant, overstuffed toy raccoon. It was the silliest and the weirdest stuffed animal I’d ever seen.

  I loved it immediately.

  I tried to sit up, but he held up his hands and then set the gifts on the floor.

  “Don’t.”

  “I’m about maybe twelve weeks along, not a beach ball,” I said, leaping off the bed and into his arms. He spun me around and kissed me long and hard, his tongue dancing with my own, tempting me in a way that so was not appropriate in a hospital suite. “You really came!”

  He nodded and sat beside me as I resumed my seat on the exam table. Taking my hand, he said, “You can thank Penelope for that. She gave me the most epic ass kicking of a lifetime, everything I deserved.”

  “I bet!”

  “I was scared, Belle. I know that I shouldn’t be, that I’m this tough guy and ex-soldier. Beating people up…” He paused before continuing, “Even killing people, you can get used to.”

  Swallowing hard, I nodded. I had no illusions about his past. “I know.”

  “But I don’t want to mess up someone’s life, let alone a kid I love and made. I want them to have everything, and part of me still thinks—will always think—that there’s some guy out there who will be a million times better for you and the baby than I am.”

  “I don’t think that could ever be true,” I said, leaning forward and kissing him.

  “Maybe.”

  “Definitely.”

  “But,” he continued. “Penelope talked with me and told me straight and she’s right. As scared as I am that I might mess this up, the last thing I want is to live in a world where I never see a little girl with your blue eyes growing up. I couldn’t bear to mess her up, but I couldn’t bear to be without her or you either.”

  I squeezed his forearm, appreciating the sleeve of tattoos peeking out from his t-shirt’s sleeve. My soldier, my Marine, that was Drake. “The only way you could mess this up is if you weren’t here. We’d both never make it without you.”

  “I hope so,” he said, kissing me back. “But if anything ever happens… if I’m not good at this… I’ll understand.”

  Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, and I wiped at them. “I think you’re off to a good start. Is that a raccoon?”

  “What?” he said, breaking away from me long enough to pick up the stuffed toy. “They’re a popular pet in Japan and mascot. I thought the stuffed kind was probably way more baby friendly than a pet.”

  “We are not giving our daughter a pet raccoon.”

  “Yet,” he said, winking at me.

  I was about to continue the argument when the doctor came in with the ultrasound cart trailing behind her. She gave each of us a brisk nod and then gestured to her nurse. The younger girl went to work rubbing the gel over the wand and then prepping me for the procedure. When it was all prepared, the nurses nodded back to the doctor and said something fast in Japanese.

  The doctor looked between us and smiled. “You’re the father then.”

  Drake paused for a second, looking at me. I took his hand and squeezed it, and then he smiled at the doc. “I am.”

  “Good, then we’re sorry we started without you.”

  “That’s okay. I’m all about making up for lost time,” he replied, squeezing my hand back.

  “This might be a bit cold, Ms. Fontaine.”

  “Mrs. McManus,” Drake corrected. “We’re getting married as soon as we’re home from the vacation.”

  The doctor smiled a little more broadly. “Fine, Mrs. McManus, this might be a bit chilly but I assure you that’s normal.”

  She slid the wand over me and I turned to the 3D ultrasound. Watching it floored me and left me in tears. The baby’s face popped into view first, then the body and legs. She was even sucking on her little thumb. Then the wand passed lower and I frowned, not sure what I was seeing.

  “Doctor?” I asked.

  “You look to be almost thirteen weeks, Mrs. McManus. Congratulations to both of you,” the doctor said, looking between us. “You have a son.”

  Drake’s face brightened, and he swept me up in a hug. Then he grimaced, realizing now he had gel on him, too. “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to do that.”

  The doc laughed. “I’ve seen that one before, too. Megumi and I will get the photos printed out and update your chart. Take all the time you need.” With that, both women hurried out the door.

  Drake’s expression was wide and open, so filled with wonder, and easily the most at peace I’d ever seen it. He helped me to my feet and, it seemed, reluctantly helped me dress as well. When I was more or less ready to follow him back to the reception desk, he pulled me into an embrace and kissed me, a move that curled my toes.

  “We have a son.”

  I nodded and bit my lower lip. “This doesn’t change your plans, does it?”

  He blinked at me, genuinely confused. “Huh?”

  “Well, Dad, I know you were thinking of a beautiful little girl with bright blue eyes. Instead, I think we might be getting a handful of a son with black wavy curls who will be beating the girls away with a stick.”

  Drake groaned. “Oh, shit, I hope that karma’s not real. I was hell on my parents as a teenager.”

  I laughed and kissed him again. “Good thing we have fifteen years to prepare.”

  “And the rest of our lives to enjoy it.”

  They’re willing to kill me for my billion-dollar inheritance.

  This farm is the best hideout I’ve found.

  There’s only one rule:

  Don’t touch the farmer’s daughter.

  I try not to… at first.

  Until I catch her in the kitchen one night in nothing but a T-shirt.

  Tight little ass cheeks peeking out.

  Perky breasts just begging to be touched.

  Getting thrown out is not an option.

  But the way she watches me is getting hard to resist.

  Her innocence is begging to be taken.

  Fuck it.

  Some things are worth dying for.

  Prologue

  Chase

  Gravel crunches beneath tires in the dead of the night.

  I tilt my head to one side, a frown wrinkling my brow.

  Who’d come out here at this time?

  A pair of headlights pierce the darkness outside, and I get off the leather couch, take a peek through the curtains.

  Chevy. Tahoe. Maroon.

  Nope. I don’t recognize it. Should I?

  Maybe they’re lost campers. Better yet, they may be lost female campers –the kind of company I need to make this spacious log cabin cozy after three bottles of beer.

  I lift the bottle to my lips and glug more down. Heh, make that three and a half.

  Footsteps outside, a knock, and low voices. A thrill passes throug
h me – a tingling sensation that something is… out of whack. I don’t get that often, but I’ve learned to trust my gut. That’s a gift from my mother.

  I trudge toward the front door and switch off the Fleetwood Mac playing in the background as I do.

  I open up and face a dude in a black shirt and dark jeans standing a few feet away. Two hundred pounds. Bald head. Thin beard. Expensive watch. Probably not as expensive as the sunglasses.

  So much for those female campers.

  Wait a second, who the hell wears sunglasses at night?

  He’s not alone either. There are two men behind him, one wearing silver earrings and a leather jacket, and the other with long hair and the tattoo of a snake crawling up his arm, its head peeking out of the neckline of his shirt, also black. There’s another guy behind the wheel of the Tahoe.

  Going to a funeral, fellas?

  Four men all in black and all more or less the same build – stocky as fuck. Not as stocky as me.

  But they’re definitely not lost campers, unless there’s a camp for wrestling trainees or ex-CIA agents nearby.

  I take another gulp of beer, savor the bitter fizz on the back on the back of my tongue.

  “Gentlemen, what can I do for you? If you’re here for the party, you’re early. It isn’t until Friday. You’re welcome to come then if you like. Bring your own beer.”

  “We’re not here for the party,” the man with sunglasses answers.

  Yeah, no shit.

  I lean on the doorjamb and pull on the collar of my shirt. “Well, then, what are you here for?” The skin on the back of my neck prickles. They’re not here for cupcakes, that’s for fucking sure.

  “Are you Chester Donahue?”

  I frown. I don’t like being called that name.

  “That’s my grandfather,” I answer. “I’d call him for you, but, uh, he’s already dead.”

  The guy in the leather jacket scoffs.

  “Well, that’s funny,” Mr. Sunglasses says with a grin. He takes a step forward.

  My muscles tighten up. Readiness, calm. “Oh yeah? Funny haha, or funny fuck you?”

  “Funny, because we’re looking for someone dead, too. At least, he soon will be.”

  The bottle slips from my fingertips - it hits the front step, shatters into a thousand fragments.

  I step forward and grasp the lapels of his leather jacket, bring my forehead down. A snap rings out – and the goon goes down like a sack of shit.

  “You want this?” I yell and charge toward the guy with the snake tattoo. “Huh? Come at me, mother fucker.” I pound on my chest like King fucking Kong. Adrenaline streaks through me. I let out a wordless roar and charge at my next enemy.

  He raises a black cassette. What the fuck? It’s the last thing I expect – I hesitate.

  Electricity sparks across the space, two pinpricks of pain in my right pec – Christ, is that a Taser? I howl unadulterated rage.

  Sunglasses grins and clicks the button. My muscles convulse. Agony so intense it’s sweet. Coppery flavor rolls across my tongue, I fall, and the world becomes a dark abyss.

  * * *

  Tha-thump, bump, bump. What the fuck?

  Blackness and then… my eyelids flutter. I’m staring at a moving trail of leaves. Crisp fall leaves whip past, but it’s not them that’s moving, it’s me.

  I’m upside down, bent over someone’s shoulder, my arms dangling. The smell of worn-out leather and tang of sweat assaults my nostrils.

  I lift my head slightly, spot a pair of silver Nikes ahead of me – it’s the other dude. I blink, keep my weight heavy so these assholes don’t know I’m aware yet.

  I inch my gaze up a little – catch a glint of metal. A Colt Python in a belt holster luminous in the moonlight – salvation, baby.

  I push myself up, thrust my elbow into the nape of my captor’s neck. His grip on my waist loosens, and I jump off him, scramble for it, but my fingers slip on the butt of the gun. I fall, grunt at the impact, and look up.

  The revolver is already out of its holster, aimed at my head.

  Fuck.

  “Try anything else and I’ll shoot,” Size ten says.

  I raise my hands. “Who are–?”

  A foot whips out, strikes me in the stomach. I curl up, clutching my abdomen, and fight for air.

  I’m gonna fucking hurl. Jesus Christ, who are these dicks?

  I gag and swallow, then roll to one side and puke a puddle of beer.

  One of the goons hoots a laugh. “What a pussy.”

  My chest heaves as I stare at the night sky through tree branches. Gotta catch my breath, come up with a plan. Ain’t a chance in hell I’ll let these henchmen take me down.

  What the fuck do they want? Money?

  “Hit me again and I’ll break your ribs,” Leather Jacket says, his lips peel back into a rictus. The moonlight catches the blood on his upper lip – looks like I broke his nose earlier.

  Beside him, the man with the tattoo laughs and shines his flashlight right on my face.

  “Why are you doing this?” I squint against the bright light. The question is a command.

  “Sorry, pretty boy,” Mr. Sunglasses answers as he takes the flashlight and stands over me. “No questions allowed.”

  He gestures to Snake Tattoo, who pulls me to my feet. I’m still unsteady so I hunch over, my hands on my knees. The cold barrel of the gun presses against the back of my head.

  “Walk.”

  I hobble along, the leaves crackling beneath my bare feet. The wind blows, and branches rustle, their twigs claw-like in the half-light. The chill seeps through my thin shirt.

  I relish it. I relish the adrenaline and the cold, even the pain because it’s keeping me here. It’s keeping me in this moment.

  We’re in the woods – trees as far as the eye can see. The good news is it means we’re not that far away from the cabin. In fact, there’s a good chance I’ve jogged through here before. The bad news? I don’t have neighbors.

  I haven’t been the most behaved. Hell, I can think of a few people who’d want me to disappear. But this is going too far.

  “You know who I am, don’t you?” I say and straighten. “I don’t know who’s paying you to do this and how much you’re being paid but I’ll pay you more to get the fuck off my property.”

  “Nope.” Mr. Sunglasses shakes his head. “I don’t believe it.”

  “I’ll pay you triple,” I say.

  “Did we say you could talk?” He grunts.

  “Just keep quiet and walk faster,” the guy behind me says and pokes me with the gun.

  These men won’t talk. And they won’t change their minds. They’re being paid too well.

  Escape attempt failed and negotiation failed.

  I won’t die out here. My mind jars and grinds over facts, possibilities, escape routes. Money, no. I’m not tied up, but that gun’s too close, won’t be able to make a run for it.

  The only sounds are the chirp of insects and the owls hooting in the distance. My heart pounds against my ribcage. The river murmurs secrets to the silent woods.

  “We’re here.” Sunglasses stops.

  I stop and scour my surroundings for my escape route. My move.

  “Now, what? You’re going to shoot me? Here? I gotta tell you, fellas, you’re better than this. Zero imagination. What will the other bozos say?” Maybe if I can disarm them?

  The asshole chuckles. “So fucking funny. Use it all up while you can, prick. You won’t be laughing much longer.”

  “Maybe we should shoot him.” The barrel of the gun presses so hard against my scalp it’ll leave a mark.

  “You know we can’t,” Sunglasses grunts. “It has to look like an accident.”

  I raise my eyebrow. Does it?

  One of the fuckers punches me in the stomach, right where I got kicked earlier and this time, there’s a dull snap. I keel over, grip my torso, and inhale shattered glass. Everything blurs around me. Agony, Christ, I’m dying.

  �
�Goodbye, Mr. Donahue.”

  They grab my arms, drag me across the ground. The edge of a cliff approaches and I scuffle in the dirt, kick up wads of grass. Pain searing, blinding. “Let me go!”

  They toss me over the cliff.

  I thrash, trying to grab anything to stop my fall, but my arms are fucked. My palms scrape along the rocks. Branches whip my face.

  I hit the water.

  The cold numbs my senses for a few seconds. I can’t breathe, can’t see. Darkness closes in – it’s ending. My life is fucking ending.

  Not like this. Swim, asshole. Swim.

  I flail my arms, wince at the unending pain in my chest, and swim for it. Beat the water, fingers, shut, kick half-lame legs. My lungs burn, threaten to give out. Panic whips my thoughts and actions into a frenzy.

  I break the surface and shudder a gasp. The current drags me under again, rakes my legs over the stony riverbed. I swallow some of the muddy water, pick a direction and kick off again.

  I gather all the strength I have left, muster all the endurance I’ve built up in my years of training for triathlons, and I propel myself to the surface, fighting against the clinging tentacles of the tide.

  The river releases me. I burst upward, coughing, and draw in a ragged breath. Sweet air, so cold, so fucking painful.

  A branch drifts towards me and knocks me back down. I grab it, pull myself up and cling to it. The current sweeps us downriver under the moonlight.

  For how long? I don’t know. I slip in and out of consciousness, the water lapping against my face. Eventually, the sky lightens from black to gray.

  I crash against a boulder, and the branch splits. I let it go, grab the rock, ignoring its sharp edges, then climb onto it with my last ounce of strength.

  I’m out and I’m alive. Barely. Questions trickle through my consciousness, but I’m too exhausted to process them right now.

  Why and where can wait.

  I crawl on to the river bank and drag myself through the mud until I collapse on my back.

  The sun’s first rays peek through the leafy branches above me, then wane. I drift into darkness, the sharkish grin of my killer taunting me.

  It isn’t over yet, Mr. Donahue.